“Why on earth did you TELL me?” he cried. He entered it; crossed the room, in which there was only a small truckle-bed, over which he stumbled; opened another door and gained the stair-head. “No doubt about that,” Meddoes continued. Suppose—suppose a girl did want to start in life, start in life for herself—” She looked him frankly in the eyes. Great vistas of history opened, and she and her aunt were near reverting to the primitive and passionate and entirely indecorous arboreal—were swinging from branches by the arms, and really going on quite dreadfully—when their arrival at the Palsworthys’ happily checked this play of fancy, and brought Ann Veronica back to the exigencies of the wrappered life again.
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